


darkness has a hunger that's insatiable

by justalittlegreen



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Richie Tozier, Crying, Dom/sub, Eeesh this is a lot softer and sweeter than I'm making it sound I swear, Everybody Lives, Fucking, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Richie Tozier Has Issues, Top Eddie Kaspbrak, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25155850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Summary: The farther Eddie goes into his mean edge, the more he offers Richie to balance it. Richie blinks, tries to nod. He'll make it up to Eddie. He'll be so good. He'll be the best Eddie's ever had.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 27
Kudos: 202





	1. Chapter 1

Richie is driving them home in the Corvette, top down, wind in their faces, sighing happily as the beach recedes in the mirror. It's so good to see the other Losers. Every time he thinks of them - any of them - his stomach twists just a little, and any time they're going to see each other, he spends the whole night nauseous. What if he's forgotten again? What if he's missing someone?

The feeling always dissipates into warmth that spreads to the tips of his fingers and toes as soon as he lays eyes on them. And this time was even better. This time, he had Eddie.

The rest of the Losers had taken it in stride - Bill had looked so happy he'd nearly circled right around to tears, Bev slapped him on the back and yelled "FINALLY, ASSHOLES," and Ben had...well, Ben had worn the classic look of a straight man trying to decipher who might be the woman in the relationship.

Richie had made some comment about his sweet, delicate Eds (who, at that moment, was perched on his actual knee and methodically chewing a tofu dog) and everyone had laughed. Everyone but Eddie, who had instead turned to him an raised a single eyebrow to let him know he'd catch trouble for that later.

And now it was later.

Eddie slips a hand between Richie's back and the seat and gathers a fistful of his shirt as Richie smoothly turns into the driveway and parks. The silence settles as he turns off the car, the roaring wind finally out of their ears.

Richie turns to him. "Hi," he says, with a playful smile. "Whatcha got there, Spaghetti?"

Eddie smirks. "You realize what Ben thinks," he says, as if they'd been having this conversation all along.

Richie rolls his eyes and shrugs helplessly. "Can I help it if straight men think I'm all manly and dominant?"

Eddie twists his hand, knuckles digging into Richie's back. The shirt collar tugs at Richie's throat, making him gasp a little.

"Yeah," Eddie says softly. "If only he knew, right?"

Richie closes his eyes and swallows. "Um, Eds?"

Eddie reaches his other hand to Richie's lips and taps them with a single finger. "Shhh," he croons. "I don't think you have to talk right now, Trashmouth."

A shudder goes through Richie. Eddie _never_ calls him that. He can feel the edges of the game they're playing, knows he can call it off with a shake of his head or some other refusal. But there's a part of him that _likes_ when Eddie gets a little mean.

He knows Eddie likes it, too.

Eddie tugs on his shirt again, and leans in, lips reaching for Richie's ear. "You're gonna go inside," he murmurs. "And you know what you're gonna do for me once you get there."

Richie shivers again. They've only done this one other time, and the memory alone would be regular spank bank material, were he not getting so thoroughly and regularly laid. He nods, pulling the keys out of the ignition. Eddie holds out his gddamn _hand_ like Richie's not good enough to deal with the fucking _car keys_ but damn if something inside him doesn't love the way it feels to drop them into Eddie's palm like he's giving Eddie all the responsibility along with them.

Eddie releases his shirt and gives him a little shove. Richie bolts from the car, speedwalking into the house as Eddie turns the car back on to get the top on. That'll buy him forty seconds. Richie kicks off his shoes, stumbling up the stairs, forgetting that his hoodie has a _fucking zipper_ as he rips it over his head. By the time he reaches their bedroom, he's down to his boxers. He checks the night stand for lube, checks under the bed for the pile of worn towels, then sits down on the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and waiting. Eddie'll understand he's too fucking old to wait on his knees.

He hears Eddie come in and pause halfway through the kitchen. Richie imagines him finding his shoe half-under the refrigerator, the socks on the stairs, the hoodie flung in the hallway. He hears Eddie coming his way, pausing every time he spots another piece of clothing. By the time his shadow reaches the doorway, Richie's shaking with anticipation and a little bit of dread.

"Why," says Eddie dryly from the door, "does it look like a fucking teenager tried to burglarize my house?" He brings his hand into view, Richie's shoes dangling from two fingers, the rest of his clothes thrown over Eddie's forearm.

Richie reaches for a shred of his old bravado and comes up with, "Figured I'd leave you a trail so you wouldn't decide to mop the fucking kitchen instead of - "

"Instead of what?" Eddie steps into the room and tosses Richie's shoes at him. He flings his arms up just before they hit him in the face. "You know where those go," Eddie continues. Richie starts to scramble to his feet, but Eddie comes over and kicks him back down. It's not a violent kick, more of a firm nudge with his bare foot, but Richie gets the message. He puts one hand in the foot of each shoe and crawls them to the shoe rack by the door. He'd laugh if he wasn't so overcome.

When he turns around, Eddie's sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him, shaking his head. "Useless," he says, and Richie feels a hot blush creep up his stomach and through his chest. "Get over here."

Richie doesn't even try to stand up this time. His wrists ache as he kneels on all fours at Eddie's feet. He feels Eddie work his hand into his hair and bites back a moan. He leans into the contact, needing to be touched. Eddie's grip on his hair isn't rough, but it's firm. He tilts Richie's head back. "You're going to make it up to me."

There it is. The chance at redemption. The farther Eddie goes into his mean edge, the more he offers Richie to balance it. Richie blinks, tries to nod. He'll make it up to Eddie. He'll be so good. He'll be the best Eddie's ever had.

Eddie breaks his hold on Richie's hair to cup his cheek. "That's it," he says, stroking his thumb over Richie's lips. Richie aches to open his mouth, fights the urge to bite, suck, _show him._.

He can be good.

When Eddie shoves two fingers into his mouth, Richie's ready for it, drawing them in and sucking hard, flicking his tongue into the space between Eddie's fingers. Eddie grunts, bringing his other hand back to Richie's hair and forcing his head back and forth, up and down the length of his fingers. Richie relaxes into the motion, loose, pliant, needy. He moans through his full mouth, feeling the ache of missing. Wanting Eddie to fuck him already, _claim_ him already. Show him.

Eddie yanks his fingers back and wipes them on Richie's cheek. Richie's cock throbs. He pants, catching his breath, wanting more. He leans in towards Eddie's crotch - his still-dressed-haven't-even-unbuckled-my-belt crotch, where there is nonetheless an _impressive_ bulge - and flits his eyes upward, seeking - permission?

Eddie looks down at him and smiles. "This is it, right, baby?" he says softly. Richie can hear the steel beneath the words, braces himself for what's coming.

"This is what you're good for, isn't it?"

The blush hits him like a slap this time. He takes a long, shuddering breath that's dangerously close to a sob. Eddie gives a long, slow pull on his hair, pulling him towards the bulge in his pants. "Go on," he says. "I know you can't wait, can you? You've been hungry for my cock all - fucking - day," he says, tugging his hair for emphasis. "Can't put your fucking shoes away, but at least you can do this."

Richie gropes for his belt, forcing Eddie to lean, then lie all the way back on the back, hand still fisted in Richie's hair as Richie unbuckles, unbuttons, and yanks until he frees Eddie's cock. He crawls halfway onto the bed, mouth open, scrambling.

"Stop." The word halts Richie in his tracks. The look he gives Eddie is one of wounded frustration, but he doesn't speak. Eddie sits up and pushes him back down to his knees. Richie winces. Eddie changes course immediately, letting go of his hair and motioning him up on the bed. Eddie settles himself against the headboard, and Richie comes to lie between his legs, head resting on Eddie's thigh, practically drooling at his cock, only a few inches away.

Eddie strokes his hair. "Settle down," he says, though he doesn't really need to. "That's it. I knew you could be good," he says. Richie closes his eyes and whimpers.

"Shhh," Eddie says. "You're so good for me. So good, in fact, that I'll give you a choice."

Richie's eyes fly open. He lifts his head slightly, looking straight at Eddie, pleading silently.

"I can come in your ass or down your throat," Eddie says. "Doesn't make a difference to me," he adds, going for the kill. "It's just a hole, isn't it? Just somewhere warm and wet for me to get off before I go to sleep." He searches Richie's face for distress as he speaks, still not entirely sure it's okay, even after months of messing around with meanness as a tool of seduction. Richie's mouth falls open, a strangled whimper.

"Go ahead, say whatever it is you obviously need to say," Eddie says, rolling his eyes.

It takes Richie two tries. "Me, too?"

Eddie pretends to think, tapping a finger against his lips. "Hmm. Do you really think you deserve that? After what you did today? Lying to everyone, making them think you're in charge of _anything_?"

Tears leak down Richie's face. "I'm sorry."

"I should film this," Eddie continues. "Show them what you're _really_ like. Show them what you like to do. How you like to take it. What do you think, Trashmouth?"

Richie buries his head in Eddie's thigh and sobs. Eddie notes with satisfaction that he's grinding his hips into the sheets, consciously nor not. "I think they'd like to see that," he says softly. "I think they'd like to see you be good for me."


	2. Chapter 2

Richie squirms at the thought, the vision of each of their friends bent over their phones, light flickering over their faces as they watch Richie on his knees and begging. He manages to shake his head against Eddie's thigh. 

"No?" Eddie says. "Are you sure you don't want them all to see you?" He threads his fingers through Richie's hair, soothing, even as his words dig deeper. "I know I'd enjoy showing you off." Richie gasps, hips bucking against the sheets, his grip on Eddie's waist tightening. "Letting everyone see how good you are for me, how well you take it. I mean, why wouldn't I? You were so...undisciplined when we got together," he says, his voice taking on an edge of annoyance. "You were so impatient. Remember that?" His grip tightens. Richie's openly sobbing into his leg, but it's cathartic, open. He could stop this all - he could _breathe_ in a questionable way, and Eddie would walk, no, run it all back. But he doesn't. 

Something about him needs this.

Eddie taps his shoulder. "Roll over." Richie hesitates, and Eddie gives his shoulder a shove. "I _said_ , roll over, _Trashmouth._ " Richie does, his head coming to rest between Eddie's thighs, knees bent up to keep his feet on the bed. Eddie cradles his face in his hands, lifts Richie's head slightly. "See how much you love it?" he asks, forcing Richie's gaze toward his cock, red and leaking against his stomach. Richie closes his eyes, and Eddie responds with a light slap to his cheek. "Look at yourself," he demands. "Let's see, what can I do to make this more interesting? Let's think about all the things that equally embarrass and turn Richie Tozier on. Like being watched. Like..." he draws it out until Richie groans in frustration. "Like sucking my cock under the table while the rest of us have dinner," he says.

That one makes Richie's cock _twitch_ at the same time he moans, mouth open, panting like he's begging for something to fill it. He knows better. Eddie slides a hand down to his throat and squeezes very gently with the tips of his fingers until Richie's breath catches. "Like maybe we'll be hanging out, almost like we were tonight, and I tell you to get on your knees. Not because I want to get off in front of all our friends, but because I want them to know where we stand," he explains. "I want them to see you following orders. Being good. Let fucking Ben extrapolate from there."

Richie nods faintly, his breath getting faster, skin flushed down his chest. 

"Wouldn't even have to make you _do_ anything," Eddie continues. "I'd sit there and not even touch you and just tell you how good you are. I wouldn't even care if anyone heard me. They could all be sitting around, talking, and I'd just be next to you, telling you what a good boy you are. And you'd have to sit there and take it. I bet I could turn you red in five seconds. Purple in thirty."

"Like your fucking dog?" Richie aims for disgusted sarcasm, but barely manages a whine.

"I'd do that for you," Eddie whispers, ignoring him. "I'd let them see you. Quiet and good. Loved. Not because of your jokes. Or your money. But because you're mine. Right, Richie?"

Richie puts a hand over Eddie's, weaving their fingers together. "Yours," he whispers hoarsely.

"That's right," Eddie says in a tone that makes Richie twitch again. "Come on," he says gently. "Get up here. Grab the lube."

It takes Richie a moment to get started, his movements slow, like he's moving through water. Eddie leans back and folds his hands behind his head, closes his eyes. "Let me know when," he says, feigning like he doesn't need to fuck Richie this fucking instant. He hears a tiny whimper as Richie uncaps the lube.

He squints to try and get a glimpse of Richie getting him ready, sliding the condom on with his mouth, slicking him up with his hand, using the long, firm stroke he knows Eddie likes. "That's it," Eddie says. "You know where that cock's fucking going. Make it ready for you." His voice drips with _I-can't-be-bothered_ , knowing the effect it'll have. It doesn't take much to get him fully hard. He opens his eyes like he's just woken up, sees Richie lying next to him, fingers buried in his ass, stretching himself. 

"Look what a good job you did," Eddie says, gesturing to his cock. Richie rolls his eyes, out of whatever state he'd been in before. 

That won't do.

Eddie leans over and slaps his ass. Hard. Richie yelps, curling into himself. Eddie knows from experience how hard he clenches when he's in pain. 

"I said," he repeats, "Look what a good job you did." He grabs Richie by the hair and turns his head towards his cock. "You see that?"

"Yeah," Richie says halfway between earnestness and dismissal. "I fucking see that."

Eddie tightens his grip even further, shakes Richie's head. "Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me what a fucking good job you did."

"I'm the fucking dickmaster," Richie says dryly.

Eddie scrambles to his knees, knocks Richie onto his back and climbs on top of him, sinking a bite into his shoulder that makes Richie cry out. "Tell me," he growls into Richie's ear. "Tell me, or I will sit back and make you watch me jack off. I won't let you touch me. I'll wash my fucking hands when I'm done. You can sit there and let your fucking mouth water, Tozier."

Richie breaks into a sob. "Fuck," he cries, sniffling, trying to catch his breath. "Fucking _break_ me, will you?"

Eddie climbs off Richie and pulls him onto his side, lying next to him. He pulls Richie's head into his chest and guides Richie's hand to his dick, which is - miraculously - still hard. "I want you so fucking much, you understand?" he mutters as Richie starts working his hand automatically. He throws Richie a softball. "Who did this? Who got me all fucking slick and ready to fuck you?"

"Me," Richie gulps against his skin, wiping his nose on Eddie's bicep. 

"Who turned putting a condom on me into a fucking _sex act_?"

"Me," Richie says.

"What else did you do?" Eddie asks softly.

"I made you hard." It starts as a whisper and turns into a squeak.

"Yeah, you did," Eddie says, rubbing a hand over his back. "What else?"

"I, uh..." Richie falters, pressing a few kisses to Eddie's shoulder.

"What _were_ you?" Eddie prompts.

Richie pauses for a long moment. His answer is so quiet, mouthing against Eddie's skin with barely enough breath to make them words. "I was good."

"You were so good," Eddie says, kissing his forehead. "And now you can tell me what you want."

The relief in Richie is palpable. "Want you," he mutters, crawling out of Eddie's arms and stuffing a pillow under his stomach. "Fill me up, Eds, I can't fucking stand it."

Eddie gets to his knees, kneading Richie's ass in his hands. He gets it, the impulse to hide mingled with the desperate need to fuck. On another night, he'd push harder. Make Richie face him. Own it.

But tonight, Richie's earned it. He grabs the lube and presses his cock against Richie's hole, working himself in as quickly as he dares, which isn't fast at all. Richie clutches at the sheets, pumping his hips back, angling for more and more until Eddie bottoms out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently, this is the Fuck That Never Ends. I'm trying, y'all, these boys just keep up and crying on me whenever I try to throw them into bed. Does that happen to anyone else? I feel like this happens to a lot of writers in this fandom.


	3. Chapter 3

Being inside Richie never gets old. He's almost glad they're not facing each other; he doesn't want Richie to see how utterly wrecked he is, not right now. There are times for hot, tender sex where both of them cry with the sheer awe and honor of being seen, being accepted, being known. 

This is not one of those times.

"I wish," Eddie says, forcing his voice into a casual, if slightly strained pitch, "that I could take you somewhere I could take you like this. Bend you over the fucking table and carry on a conversation with the guy next to me."

Richie groans into the pillow. "Fuck."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Eddie says, not pulling out more than an inch or two before driving his hips back in, relishing the whimpers beneath him, the shudders, the sight of Richie clutching the headboard with one hand and the pillow with the other. "Talk to me, Trashmouth."

Richie has to try several times before his blubbering and gasping form coherent words. "You could gag me," he says. It's something they've done before, an easy start. "You could stuff something in my mouth so I wouldn't make a sound while you fucked me, so I couldn't - _fuck_ \- interrupt you." 

"That's good," Eddie murmurs, pressing a hand between Richie's shoulder blades, rocking his hips in rhythm. "How else would you be good for me?"

Richie shudders. "Uh - you could - " he stammers into less familiar ground, "you could put your drink on my back. Make me stay still so I don't spill it." 

Eddie's eyebrow flickers with interest. "Is that something you need, boy? To stay still?"

"Makes it - _ungh_ \- more intense," Richie explains, thrusting his hips back to meet Eddie. "It's like, all your muscles tense up and you come so fast and - " he loses the thread as Eddie reaches a hand underneath his hips and starts to stroke him. "Oh _fuck_ , Eds, you're going to fucking ruin me, you know that?"

Eddie slides his fingers to the base of Richie's cock and circles it with a thumb and forefinger, holding him tightly. Richie knows where this is going, tries futilely to pump his hips, shake his hand loose. Eddie responds by yanking his head back by the hair. "Stop that," he says firmly. "I don't want a fucking mess on my sheets. I told you I needed a warm hole to come in, not something else to clean." He releases Richie's head, adds more lube to his own cock and picks up speed. He imagines the scene Richie's set - bent over a table (why is it a poker table in his head? They don't even play poker.) Maybe his wrists are bound to the table. Eddie standing behind him, completely clothed but for his fly, carrying on a conversation with a man in the chair next to them. The other man strokes himself, watching them, admiring Richie out loud in a way that makes Richie flush, struggling not to grind against the table. 

"How'd you train him to be so...unobtrusive?" the man in his fantasy asks as Richie gives a small involuntary cry from the back of his throat. "Is he on drugs?"

"Might as well be," Eddie replies, keeping his voice as steady as he can while reaming Richie's ass in public. "He gets stoned on cock. Don't you, sweetheart?"

Fantasy-Richie does nothing but squeeze his cock by way of answer. Eddie pets him affectionately, then places his whiskey in the middle of Richie's back, watching the liquid slosh dangerously close to the lip of the glass as Richie winces and tenses, trying to hold still.

"I'd put a ring on you," Eddie says aloud, still halfway into the fantasy. "Can't have you making a mess of the table, can I? Imagine how embarrassing that'd be. You losing control of yourself like an undisciplined, greedy little brat."

"Yeah," Richie breathes in agreement. "I don't know if I could stop. You - you'd feel so good. I'd want to come so bad. Please?" He can't tell if he's begging inside the idea or in real time. He's losing himself to the sensations, Eddie's sheets against his chest, Eddie's fingers around his dripping cock, Eddie's hand on his back, Eddie filling him, stretching him, Eddie taking him apart at the seams. "I need - " Richie breaks into a helpless sob. "Please," he begs, not sure anymore what it is he so badly needs.

"Shhh," Eddie soothes. "Just be good for me. I'm so close, baby. You're going to be so good for me. Gonna fill you up and - " a flash of inspiration hits him, " - plug you. Keep you from making a mess on my bed. Keep everything where it belongs, right?" 

"Fill me up," Richie whispers back to him. "Fill me up so good. I'll be so good," he babbles. "So good for you, please?"

It's Richie's begging that sets him off. Eddie's hold on Richie's cock falls as he comes, hunched over Richie's back, pressing him into the mattress, Richie holding as still as he can as Eddie fucks the breath right out of him. " _Fuck_ ," Eddie murmurs. He presses a kiss to Richie's back and slowly works himself out. The sound Richie makes at the feeling of emptiness is both sweet and a little pathetic. Eddie pats his hip as he gropes around the bedside shelf until he finds what he wants. The plug isn't their biggest one; it goes in easily, Richie sighing around it. "That's it," Eddie says calmly, ignoring the way Richie twitches as he pats the plug a few times, as if to ensure its stability. "I'm gonna go wash up," he says, as if the scene is over. Richie rolls over and gives him a wild-eyed look of desperation. Eddie cocks his head. 

"Something wrong?"

Richie looks down at his still-hard cock, red and dripping against his stomach, then back at Eddie, begging silently. Eddie follows his gaze and offers a smirk. "Oh, you don't want to get any of that on my sheets, do you? That's so considerate. Let me grab you a towel."

Richie throws himself back down on the pillows, biting back a howl as Eddie sashays off to the bathroom. When he returns, Richie's curled up and squirming, clearly fighting some internal battle. 

"Oh, sweetheart," Eddie says sympathetically. "Let's take care of you. Let's make this easier on you, okay?"

Richie shoots him a suspicious glance as Eddie lowers the hand he's wrapped in a cold, wet towel, and roughly mops up Richie's cock and stomach. 

Richie snaps. "What the _fuck_ \- " he yelps, jumping back and away from Eddie. Eddie's ready for it and follows him, pouncing on Richie and straddling him, holding his hips firm between his knees and bringing his hand back down to finish the job.

"You didn't think you were going to get _rewarded_ for that little display, did you?" Eddie says coolly. "You didn't think you were going to somehow walk away from this. Tell me," he says, flinging the towel towards the hamper planting a hand on either side of Richie's arms, bending close to his face. "Who decides?" He doesn't have to finish the question.

He feels Richie bristle at the question, wrestling with how much he wants either answer. "You," he finally says, reluctantly.

"I decide what?"

Richie closes his eyes and answers through gritted teeth. "If I deserve it."

"That's right," Eddie says, quickly bending down to kiss him. "You gave that to me," he says quietly at Richie's ear. "You let me decide. Why?"

Richie's voice cracks as he whispers. "Because I trust you."

"That's right," Eddie says again, rolling off Richie and onto his side, running a hand down the line of Richie's ribs and hip. "I love you so much," he offers. "You're so good for me."

Richie rolls towards him, nuzzling at his chest, letting Eddie hold him and say all the things he can't hear anywhere else until he starts to fall asleep. Eddie's wide awake, even as Richie starts to snore. He gently eases himself out of the embrace and grabs his phone, lying back against the pillows. Cock rings and wrist restraints? And maybe a new gag. He's got shopping to do.

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> The author delights in responding to comments. :-)


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